From every branch the balmy flow'rets rife,
On every bough the golden fruits are seen ;
With odours fweet it fills the fmiling fkies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalian queen ;
But in the midit of all its blooming pride
A fudden blast from Appeninus blows,

Cold with perpetual fnows:

The tender blighted plant fhrinks up his leaves, and

dies.

XIV.

Arife O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bow'rs,
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy fkilful hand,
To the foft notes of elegant defire,
With which o'er many a land

Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love;
To me refign the vocal shell;
And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,
As may ev'n things inanimate,

Rough mountain oaks, and defart rocks, to pity move.

XV.

What were,
alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
To thee thy mistress in the blissful band
Of Hymen never gave her hand;

The joys of wedded love were never thine,

In thy domeftic care

She never bore a share,
Nor with endearing art,

Would heal thy wounded heart

Of every fecret grief that fester'd there :
Nor did her fond affection on the bed

Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head.
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the fenfe of pain :

Nor did the crown your mutual flame

With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.

XVI.

O belt of wives! O dearer far to me
Than when thy virgin charmst

Were yielded to my arms,

How can my foul endure the lofs of thee?
How in the world, to me a defart grown,
Abandon'd, and alone,

Without my fweet companion can I live?
Without thy lovely fmile,

The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give?
Ev'n the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praife,
Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could
raife.

XVII.

For my

diftracted mind

What fuccour can I find?

On whom for confolation fhall I call?

Support me every friend,

Your kind affiftance lend

To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.
Alas! each friend of miue,

My dear departed love, fo much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.
My books, my best relief

In every other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all :
Each fav'rite author we together read

My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and fpeaks of Lucy

dead.

XVIII.

We were the happieft pair of human kind!
The rolling year its varying courfe perform'd
And back return'd again;
Another and another fmiling came,
And faw our happiness unchang'd remain ;
Still in her golden chain

Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind;
Our ftudies, pleasures, tafte, the fame.
O fatal, fatal stroke.

That all this pleasing fabric Love had rais'd ́
Of rare felicity,

On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd,
And every fcheme of blifs our hearts had form'd
With foothing hope, for many a future day,
In one fad moment broke !

Yet O my foul, thy rifing murmurs ftay,
Nor dare th' all wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or agait his fupreme decree
With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade Was his moft righteous will, and be that will obey'd.

XIX.

Would thy fond love his grace to her controul,
And in thefe low abodes of fin and pain

Her pure, exalted four
Unjustly for thy partial good detain ?
No-rather trive thy grov'ling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heav'nly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd fhe now with pity fees
How frail, how infecure, how flight,
Is every mortal blifs;

Ev'n love itself if rifing by degrees

Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state, Whofe fleeting joys fo foon muft end, It does not too its fov'reign Good afcend. Rife then, my foul, with hope elate, And feek thofe regions of ferene delight, Whofe peaceful path and ever open gate Nor feet but those of harden'd guilt fhall mifs. There death himself thy Lucy shall restore, There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide us more.

VERSES

Making PART of an

EPITAPH or the fame LAD Y.

M

By the Same.

ADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes; Tho' meek, magnanimous, tho' witty, wife; Polite, as all her life in courts had been ; Yet good, as fhe the world had never feen; The noble of an exalted mind, With gentle fen, le tenderness combin❜d. Her Speech was the melodious voice of Love, Her Song the warbling of the vernal Grove; Her Eloquence was fweeter than her Song, Soft as her Heart, and as her Reason ftrong; Her Form each beauty of her mind exprefs'd, Her Mind was Virtue by the Graces drefs'd.